Business Class

As if there are not enough reasons to love Australia, they have given me another one. This is called “Business Class.” This is my second trip out to Oz in less than a month and when they flew me the entire way business class last time, I wanted to tell them that, really, it wasn’t necessary. I mean, c’mon, it is an honor enough to be flown to Australia. I was willing to go cattle class. But nope, that is not how the Aussies operate. If you are willing to spend nearly four entire days of your life coming out to visit them (losing one to gain it back on the way home) they are going to treat you right. And business class is incredibly right. On the flight from New York to Los Angeles last time, I ended up being seated next to a Mexican-American UNICEF relief worker who was also being flown out to Oz business class for the first time. Together, we made complete fools of ourselves for five and a half hours. “Champagne!” we shouted before snapping pictures of ourselves posing with it and then drinking it. “A menu!” we exclaimed when handed the dining options---yes OPTIONS---for that flight. Even after nearly knocking him senseless and then dumping my drink in his lap trying to figure out how to get my table out of the seat, he was so happy he didn’t seem bothered at all. “Oh no, I am so sorry!” I exclaimed, feeling like such a peasant. “I actually do travel quite a bit…just not in business class...I’m not used to the table being there next to my own movie screen!” He understood completely. The best, however, was yet to come. Although I was traveling business class, I was traveling American-style business class since Qantas code-shares with American airlines in the United States. Leaving Los Angeles for Sydney, I got the real taste of business class. And again, I acted like a fool. Vaguely, in the back of my mind, I realized that some airplanes have two floors and that the rich people are on the top floor and the rest of us are on the bottom floor. I have taken at least a hundred transatlantic or transoceanic flights by now and I somehow registered that there was another part of the plane where the “other half” lived but I also figured that I was never going to be on it so I forgot about its existence. Well, boarding my very first flight to Australia from Los Angeles, I was escorted upstairs to my seat. I kept looking around, trying to make sure I wasn’t breaking any rules by being up there, when the hot towels and the pajamas arrived. The Australians give you free pajamas for flying on their planes! And they aren’t cheap pajamas that make you itch and leave noticeable red creases in your skin. They are genuinely wonderful, soft pajamas. And they have a kangaroo on them. (Yes, I did have momentary thoughts of stealing a whole bunch of them and bringing them home as gifts but I managed to get myself under control). Mind you, it is a long ass flight, one of the longest in the world, but they sure do make it easy on you with all that food, liquor and pajamas. The best part is that once you board the real Qantas flight operated by real Australians, you are in their world and, believe me, if uptight and unenthusiastic Aussies exist, Qantas doesn’t hire them. “Hello gorgeous!” the flight attendant called to me, “You must be absolutely dying for a glass of something yummy to ease your way, what can I offer you, my love?” (The fact that she called me “gorgeous” and “my love” in one sentence immediately endeared me to her, the airline, and the country of Australia forever and ever---I am a pushover for wildly gratuitous flattery). Afterwards she read off an impossibly long list of wines, beers, and liquors—some I had never heard of before and I do consider myself a bit of a professional—before I had to tell her that, sadly, I can’t drink on flights longer than four or five hours. I puff up like Mr. Potato head. It is a sad reality, especially considering that if you want to drink on any domestic American flights you are going to pay out your ass and here, here on wonderful Qantas, liquor was free and plentiful. But I get some strange water retention thing on planes made markedly worse if I drink. I arrive swollen in the face and joints and have to waddle around like that for the 48 hours it takes it to go away. All in all, it’s not very attractive for anyone. But this lady didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, that won’t happen on this flight! Australian wine does not make anyone puff up- it’s because you get served that French swill on your planes that does it. In either case, it shouldn’t stop you from enjoying yourself my lovely one, now have a tipple!” she admonished me. Needless to say, against all reason, I folded immediately. It was too late at night and I was too exhausted to fully have the “bombed in business class” experience that I noted others around me enjoying, but, still, I appreciated the invitation. A few hours later, in my pajamas, lightly buzzed and watching a stupid Jennifer Aniston movie that I found far funnier than it probably was, my flight attendant friend reappeared. “More wine?” she asked. No, I indicated, I was just fine…perfect, actually. “Cognac? Baileys? Bourbon, perhaps?” At this point it dawned on me that Australians are either the most friendly and laid back substance pushers in in the world or they fully intend for you to arrive completely drunk in their homeland to lessen any culture shock you may acquire coming from more uptight destinations. If they couldn’t be sure that you weren’t a risk to their national policies of being laidback and friendly, then by dammit they were going to make you far easier to deal with when you arrived by tranquilizing your ass well before you got there. But no, I promised her, I did not need to be plied with alcohol. I was already in love and fully prepared to declare my adoration for Australia before even setting foot in the place. It happened somewhere between the champagne, the prime rib, the cheese plate, the wine, the homemade cookies and, of course, the pajamas. But Australia had my soul right from that first plane ride, no need to subdue me. Needless to say, my second time around has been just as wonderful but now I know the ropes. I no longer give people concussions trying to open my dining tray and I don’t squeak and bounce like a toddler and take pictures of myself when someone hands me a glass of champagne and a menu. Instead, pre-flight, I repair straight to the business class lounge where I can eat, drink, watch TV and get free internet. Granted, in America (where our airline service horrifies others the world over) it is still pretty ghetto compared to Australia, and honestly, most other countries. I was sitting in the Qantas business class lounge last night, or some night recently---it is so hard to keep track of things with this kind of time difference-- which, because we were still in America, was actually the American Airlines business class lounge. At one point, I had an Aussie couple creep up to me and ask me, not wanting to be insulting, if they really only got passes for two free drinks and now they had to pay if they wanted another one? I explained that yes, that was probably the case and, since I knew I could have a glass of wine or two for free on the next flight, proffered up one of my coupons to them. “I pay almost seven grand for a ticket between here and Perth and I can’t drink for free? Really?” the husband of the couple asked. “Yes, really. And I am sorry about that. I was just in Australia and I know that you give away really good food and alcohol in your lounges and on your planes and I am sorry we can’t return the favor. We’re kind of broke at the moment and our airlines are not subsidized by our government so even in business class you get Chex mix and wine coolers…it's awful, really, but rest assured that it is far worse in coach!” He looked momentarily shocked but recovered quickly enough. “That’s OK, you bloody Yanks have gotten yourselves into a pickle but you’ll be just fine. We’ll pay for our drinks…and yours…” he said, plunking a glass of wine down in front of me. “We’re doing OK for now, I am sure you will return the favor when you’re OK again too.” I wanted to say, “Don’t bet on it, we’re still struggling with basic issues like healthcare and pensions,” but Australians seem to really like Americans, despite the fact that we serve them Cheerios and Schlitz in business class, so I didn’t want to do anything to further damage that impression. And, to be fair, Australia has a relatively tiny population and a government that is not compelled to start or get involved in massive wars so they have the extra money to give their citizens free champagne and feed them steak and lobster on airplanes. In the meantime, Australia still seems to be interested in partnerships with America so you can find me in business class knocking people out randomly with my tray table and coveting the pajamas. I still swell up on planes, however. Even Australia couldn’t cure that.